"And if Ency Stephens had one of those little self-locomotive carriages, she could go about by herself all day long."
"How good that would be! as soon as the spring opens. You could send one up from New York, Endecott. Do they cost much?"
"I think not. And what do you say to taking a little portion of this for the beginning of a free library for the poor people? If the thing were once begun, Mr. Stoutenburgh would give you what you please to carry it on,—and Mr. Simlins would help,—and so would I."
"I was thinking of books!" said Faith, her eye dancing in an unknown "library";—"but these would be books to lend. I think a great many would like that, Endecott! O yes, we could get plenty of help. That is a delightful plan!—I don't think I ought to be sorry that basket came, after all," she added smiling. Mr. Linden smiled too—she was a pretty Lady Bountiful!
"Faith," he said, "suppose (it is a very presumptuous supposition, but one may suppose anything) suppose when my hands are free to take care of my Mignonette, that I should have the offer of two or three different gardens wherein to place her. How should I choose?"
She coloured and looked at him somewhat inquiringly, then turned away with a kept-in but very pretty smile. "I know," she said, "how you would choose—and you would not ask me."
"Yes I should, little unbeliever—I ask you now."
"You would go," she said gravely—"where your hands were most wanted."
"There spoke a true Sunbeam!" said Mr. Linden. But perhaps the word—or something in the changing light of the afternoon—carried his thoughts on to the night train which was to bear him away; for he left Dr. Harrison, and baskets, and schemes, in the background; and drawing her closer to his side talked of her affairs—what she had been doing, what she meant to do, in various ways,—trying to leave as it were a sort of network of his care about her. Then came twilight, and Mrs. Derrick and tea; with Faith's light figure flitting to and fro in preparation; and then prayers. And then—how fast the clock ticked! how fast the minutes began to run away!
The storm did not rest,—it blew and beat and poured down as hard as ever, eddying round the house in gusts that made every word and every minute within doors seem quieter and sweeter. And the words were many, and the minutes too—yet they dropped away one by one, and the upper glass was empty!